Beatrice Prior and Band Potential
by JustForFunWhyNot
Summary: Beatrice (Tris) Prior is used to moving. She isn't particularly fazed by the sudden move to Ohio. But the most important thing to her is music, what happens when that is taken away from her? The answer lies inside this tale of music and madness, friends and folly, band geeks and basketball games, high school and hiding secrets. First fanfic, feedback appreciated!
New school, new me. No friends, no problem. Unfamiliar city, familiar circumstances.

No band, no chill.

When my mother told me we were moving to Ohio, I wasn't surprised. I've moved around a ton. She told me I was to attend "Hamilton High" - and upon looking it up online, I am fuming.

I fully admit to being a hopeless band geek, in every sense of the term. I play drums, so I can play in most bands - rock, jazz, school band, samba band, etc. But Hamilton High has no bad program. At all. No musical outlet. So needless to say, I am not looking forward to attending this dull school. Hopefully, there will be some club or something; I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

I sigh and fall onto my bed, starting at the blank ceiling. I've got this

The blaring of "We Didn't Start The Fire" in my ear at 6:30 was enough to jolt me awake, practically getting whiplash in the process. I quickly yet groggily shut off my alarm, trotting to my closet to get dressed. I am honestly not one to worry about clothes too much. I have an okay fashion sense, but standing out isn't really my forte. Jeans, tee shirts and simple tops make up most of my wardrobe, and in the corner are my gray converse and my leather jacket; worn through from years of wearing. I like my jacket a lot, because it makes me feel the teeniest bit rebellious. Even though it is totally in dress code and all, I feel just a bit more confident. It's dorky in the extreme, but hey - this is me we're talking about. Queen of the Dorks. My Metallica shirt and old jeans (that aren't supposed to be ripped, oh well) will do for today.

Makeup is, again, not for me. Chapstick has served me well, and will continue to do so. Makeup is a scheme to get you to pay $100 for little colorful powders to make you "beautiful". No thanks. I suppose I'm not ugly, but I wouldn't say I'm pretty, you know? Plain. Just me. However I don't mind, I like me. But for other reasons. I shove some binders, paper, pencils and such into my backpack, along with my 5AN Extremes and SD1s, just in case. And because I want to take them out of habit and nostalgia for my old bands. I gracefully stub my toe on my way out of the bathroom and head downstairs, backpack slung over shoulder. My mother likes to sleep in, my father is in Greece for work, and my sister is sitting at the table, munching her Frosted Flakes contently.

"Morning, Anna," I call over to her. She looks up and smiles and waves.

"Gmorning Trissy!" She replies between generous bites of cereal. I laugh and sit next to her. I'm not much of a breakfast person anyway, we need to go soon.

"You ready for school?" I say, and she nods and bounces in her chair. Anne has always been independent, getting herself ready and all. For a second grader, it's pretty impressive.

"Just _one_ second," She calls over her shoulder, and I smile. That is always what I say when we are about to go somewhere, I guess she picked it up.

Anne prances back into the room, dark curls brushed, clean play dress on, and backpack packed. Her light brown skin glows with happiness, as I am sure my sickly pale face never does. We adopted Anne from a couple who couldn't afford to keep her, but she still feels like my biological sister. I love her to pieces.

"Let's go!" I say, half excited and half terrified of day one.

Anne skips along the gravel path to Harrison Elementary school, next door to my high school. I let her go ahead, but I watch her in case of cars and such. You know how it is.

Suddenly she walks back toward me. "Trissy?" She says, looking at the ground.

"Yes, Annie?" I reply softly, she seems nervous.

"What if the kids at school don't like..." She begins, before starting to sniffle. I lean down next to her, concerned.

"I know what it's like to worry about people not liking you. But I promise, you'll make tons of friends!" I say to her with a smile. She looks up, confused.

"I know they'll like _me_ , but I have a Professor Penguin backpack and all the other kids have Sergeant Sea lion backpack!" She exclaimed, pointing to a group of kids with matching backpacks. I laugh despite myself, her little brown eyes look up at me with concern.

"Well if they don't like your backpack, tell them that the oldest penguin lived to be 40, but the oldest captive sea lion only lives to be 26!" I offer, trying to be enthusiastic. She grins and nods aggressively, and we part ways to school.

I am handed a slip in the office with my schedule:

1st Period - English Honors. Room 857

2nd Period - Science. Room 602

3rd Period- History. Room 571

4th Period - PE. Gym

5th Period - Math. Room 349

6th Period - Free Period

"Free Period"?! What happened to French? I was going to take French! I curse under my breath profusely, not realizing I had an audience

"We do not appreciate such language at this school, Ms.-" The old lady squints at my flimsy ID - "Prior." She says with a glare. I only smile sweetly and watch her walk away quickly and authoritatively.

"Well, if I can't speak real French might as well speak the other," I mutter to myself. I try to get situated in my dingy locker when a girl walks over and taps on my shoulder.

"Hello, _Ms. Prior_ " The girl says dramatically, mocking the other woman. I laugh and extend my hand, "Please, call me Beatrice. I insist!" I reply, mirroring her mock formality. "And what am I to call you, miss?" I ask the girl. She looks beautiful, to be honest. Her outfit looks like she put a bit of effort in, her hair is smooth and wavy, pulled into an intricate braid. She's carrying a huge aquamarine backpack, packed to the gills.

"You may call me Christina, pleasure to meet you," The girl, Christina, accepts my hand and shakes it. "Can I see your schedule real quick?" She then says, back to usual casual conversation.

"Yeah," I reply, digging through my pockets, "here you go."

Christina compares them, squinting in thought. After one final examination she hands my paper back. "We have free period together. And math, I think." She concludes. That's convenient, 2 in 6 classes is pretty good luck. I want about to hope for a typical "teen goes to new school meets someone wonderful and has all of their classes together" situation. That always irked me, so impractical.

"Well, I will see you then." I say to her. As if on cue, the bell rings, and I head off to English.

•-•-•-•-•

thanks for reading! This is my first shot at a story, so I am very open to criticism and such. Hope you enjoyed! Please comment if you think I should continue. Until next time :)


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